Chapter 19
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Nate
My goal is to make MBAS as much money as possible for their annual fundraiser. I’ve pulled out all the stops: catering, renting a tent, erecting a stage, and calling in my bandmates, including my sister, so we can give a performance—despite my stage fright.
I would have thought the stage fright would have been on my mind the most.
But of all things, it’s Bev. Her name, “Beverly,” repeats in my mind like a breeze rustling through the trees.
“Nate. Hey, Nate!” My sister, Lucy, waves a hand in my face. She sports a messy black bob, red lipstick, and a pierced nose. “Where do you want the canapes? Catering wants to know.”
I snap back to attention. “Five trays on the patio by the infinity pool; another five on the table in the tent; and then circle with all the others.”
“Gotcha.” She’s about to walk away but then turns back to me. “Everything okay? ”
“Yeah, why?” I check my phone again for the umpteenth time. Bev should be here any minute now.
“You seem distracted.”
I glance through the window, checking to see if her car might be here already, but that would mean she would have come early—and she’s clearly not here. So. “What was that?” I ask.
“You. Seem. Distracted.”
“Oh. Really?”
“Yeah.”
“I guess there’s a lot going on.” As if on cue, two caterers hurry past us, carrying a large box.
“Something is up,” she says confidently.
“Nothing is up.”
“I know when you’re distracted, and I know that level of distraction…Bev.”
“What?” I ask, genuinely surprised.
“Bev,” she repeats.
“Why would you…” I can’t find the words.
“I remember from school.”
“Remember what?”
“How you were.”
I rake a hand through my hair. “Well, how was I?”
“You were always so focused on her. Looking around for her, talking about her, wondering about her, trying to figure out ways to spend more time with her.”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
She quirks an eyebrow.
I hold up my hands. “Alright, you got me. So what do I do?”
“Tell her how you feel.”
“I already told her I’m not giving up on her. ”
“That’s not the same thing as telling her how you feel.” She points a finger at me. “Which you need to do.”
Fear screeches through me like a car tearing out of a parking lot. “I can’t do that.”
“Why?”
“You talked with Xavier. We’ll probably have to go on tour soon.”
“Exactly. So it’s better to tell her now than never.”
“But what if I tell her now, and she already knows about the potential tour, so then she’s less likely to say, ‘Yes.’ So then I tell her, and she says, ‘No.’ And then I’m fucked. Literally ruined my chance.”
“Isn’t that better than not trying at all?”
I scratch my chin. “But is there a way to be more strategic?”
“Isn’t ‘being strategic’ what got you into the mess back in school? You told Derek BS about the kiss, and then it backfired spectacularly.”
She has a point. “Okay,” I say.
She squeezes my arm. “I think you’re overthinking this. Just tell her how you feel. It can be that easy.”
I sigh. “I just don’t want to fuck it up.”
“Don’t we all.”
I feel Bev before I see her. There’s something about the way the light changes. The glow brightens. The birds turn idyllic, chirping. The energy becomes charged.
And there she is helping one of the caterers who dropped a stack of napkins. She wears a sheath turquoise dress, what my sister calls “wedge shoes,” and her hair is pulled back in a loose braid with sexy tendrils flying about.
I take in every inch of her as she chases a few napkins tumbling across the lawn. In fact, I can’t look away. I’m pulled to her, and I realize I’m walking towards her about halfway there.
I’m going to tell her. I’m finally going to tell her.
I’m bigger than her by a longshot, so I cover the ground quickly, reaching the napkins she’d been chasing first.
As she bends to pick one up, I’ve already reached for it and hold it out for her.
“Thanks.” She holds a hand over her eyes to protect them from the sun’s glare. When she sees me, she grins. “Hi.”
“Bev, I need to tell you something.” My heart pounds crazily like horse hooves in the derby.
“What?” she asks as if what I’m about to say couldn’t break me.
I’m about to spill it all when I notice Chandra, inching closer to us—in eavesdropping range. She seems intrigued by the whole thing, and I can’t blame her. “Hi, Chandra,” I say.
She waves sheepishly as if called out. “Don’t mind me,” she says.
I give Bev a look like, “We’ll talk later.”
___
The fundraiser attendees drink the champagne; eat the canapes; talk beneath the fairy lights. Bev looks gorgeous. In fact, she looks so gorgeous, it completely takes my mind off my band’s performance .
I also realize I should probably check on Moose. I’ve hired a dog behavioralist, who is one of the leading veterinarians in the closest city, New York, to stay with Moose during the party. It wasn’t cheap, but obviously, worth every penny.
I knock on the sitting room’s door. They’re on the second floor, in the back, tucked away from the rest of the party.
“Come in,” the dog behavioralist, Laval, calls from inside.
I push open the door and see Moose curled up on the couch, using one of my sweatshirts as a pillow. His tail thumps against the cushions when he sees me. I marvel at how he’s already looking so much healthier. He’s gained a little weight, and some hair seems to be growing back in.
“I brought you hors d’oeuvres.” I hand a plate piled with food to Laval.
“Thanks,” he says, popping a canape in his mouth.
“How’s he doing?” I ask.
“Pretty good. He was showing some signs of mild separation anxiety for about the first fifteen minutes, but we’ve worked through them. We had a nice play session, and now, we’re resting for a bit.”
I give Moose a scratch behind his ears. “So crazy question,” I say. “My band is about to perform. Do you think it’d terrify him to bring him out for a bit? He always likes it when I sing around the house.”
Laval seemingly thinks on it. “Why don’t we try? He’s doing well, and it’s good to expose him to new things. I’ll bring him in the back, and I’ll see how he does.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed seeing Moose as I practiced performing around the house .
“Plus, I’m a fan too,” Laval says.
I make a mental note to give him some merch before he leaves. “Thanks. I’m happy to hear it.”
Ding! My phone. A text from my sister.
Lucy: Where are you??
“I better get going,” I say. “My sister just sent a text with two question marks, which is her way of saying, ‘Get the hell over here now!’”
I shake Laval’s hand, give Moose one last pet, and then set out for the stage.
As I hurry over, I become increasingly aware of the panic returning. It starts off as a buzzing in my head, like anxious bees, and then it starts to swirl down my body, tightening and spiraling as it goes, until it feels as powerful as a tornado.
“Are you okay?” Lucy asks when she sees me.
“Yeah.” But my voice comes out tight.
“Is it because she’s here? She’s never seen you perform, right?”
“Jeez, Lucy, I’d never actually thought about that, but now, I have a new worry.”
“Sorry!” A hand flies over her mouth. “I just haven’t been the same since…you know.”
Anger bubbles, mixing with the panic. “I know,” I say. She doesn’t have to spell it out. I know exactly what she’s talking about. And so does the judge who appointed me to do the community service, a story I’ll get into later.
She hands me my guitar.
It’s cool to the touch. My clammy fingers grip it tightly. I don’t want to drop it.
Hold it together, I tell myself .
Our two other band members, Yorke and Robbie, come in for a huddle. We say what we always say, “Whatever,” and then fist bump.
My heart thunders— thump, thump, thump —as I step on stage. It’s not dark yet, so there’s no stage lights. I can see into the audience of about one hundred people. Men in silk-gray suits. Women in satiny sundresses. Caterers circling with chilled champagne.
My vision blurs as my panic rises. My heart roars. Thumpthumpthump .
I search for Moose, but I can’t find him.
My hearing grows muffled as if I’m underwater. Everything sounds so far away.
“You’ve got this,” Bev shouts. Her voice cuts through the haze and pierces me through and through.
My eyes shoot to where I heard her. There she is: front and center, cheering me on, pumping her fist. The bourbon gleam in her eyes warms me—just like the drink on a cold day.
She knows my secret. And she hasn’t left. Her love doesn’t have to be earned.
And then it hits me…
The reason I’ve been having the panic attacks…
My whole childhood I’ve been raised by stage parents. I had to earn their love. I had to earn it through performances.
And it got to the point where those wires crossed in my brain. I don’t know where to find love because I haven’t ever been taught as a kid. I only know that I need love. Desperately.
So I search for it in superficial relationships.
I search for it in parties .
But mostly, I search for it when performing. Because that’s the only time my parents had given it to me.
Recently, when I stared out into the crowds, I only saw a void. A terrifying, empty void. A void that led to the panic.
But no more.
Because there’s Bev. I see it in her eyes. She cares for me. She’s here. I don’t have to earn anything from her because she gives it to me freely.
And I want to give back to her too.
The need is overwhelming.
And so I play. I play for her.
I can’t take my eyes off her, and even though I haven’t told her how I feel yet, I hope she’ll see this as a first step. I hope she’ll be able to feel it in my music. That everyone can see how much I care.
We finish up our set, and the crowd cheers. Wilder than they’ve ever been before.
But I don’t care about that anymore.
I care about talking to Bev. I need to talk to Bev. I have to tell her how I feel.
According to the schedule, we’ll have a cocktail hour before the auction begins. That gives me time.
I search the crowd, scanning for her hair, the turquoise color of her dress.
I grow frustrated— where is she?— because I can’t find her.
And then I see her walking along my wooden dock. The blue water shimmers around her.
As I stalk towards her, I inhale the smell of fresh cut grass and try to memorize everything about this moment. The pink and violet sunset; the sound of gentle waves lapping, guests chattering; glasses clinking; and all of her, the curves in her dress, and the way her hair flutters in the breeze.
I step on the dock, and the wood creaks beneath my feet.
She turns and flashes me a look. I don’t know how to describe it. But I will never forget it. Her eyebrows lift; her mouth curves upwards; and her cheeks flush hot.
Something has shifted. She’s ready.
She throws her arms up, just as I reach her, and they encircle my neck. Her fingers rake through my hair.
Pleasure lightnings through me.
My lips meet hers, and fifteen years of intensity unleashes.
She presses against me, her breasts crushing into my torso. And there’s just the warmth of her tongue, the silk of her skin, the smell of roses in her hair.
I have reached heaven. I’m in a state of pure bliss.
Suddenly, she pulls away. A few strands of her hair stick to my stubble, and I shiver as they glide back with her.
Her eyes are dark, and her lips are plump, swollen from our kiss.
She glances past me and frowns.
I turn to see what she’s looking at.
Chandra.
Our boss was watching.
Chandra turns as if she hadn’t noticed, but it’s clear from her shocked expression, the suddenness of her looking away.
“She saw,” Bev whispers.
“What’s she going to do?” I don’t want Bev to worry. I don’t want this moment tarnished as “wrong” when it’s the rightest thing I’ve ever done .
“I could lose the promotion.” Her voice wavers.
“I won’t let that happen.”
She gives me an expression as if to say, “How?”
“I’ll talk with Chandra myself. Explain it’s my fault. She can’t blame you for something I did.”
She nods, although I can tell she’s uneasy.
“Bev.” I reach for her arm.
“I got caught up after seeing you play.” She looks over at Chandra again and pulls away her hand. “I should go circulate,” she says. “I need to make sure we reach our financial goals.”
I want to convince her to stay with me, but I know how important this is to her. “Okay,” I say reluctantly. “Let me know how I can help.”
“You’ve already done so much.” She squeezes my hand and then leaves.
The rest of the evening, I watch her from afar. Unfortunately, that guy, Tommy, follows her around. I see that she’s not leading him on, which I appreciate. There are all kinds of games she could play with me now, and she’s not. She’s trying to dodge his advances, and it’s clear. I want to throw him out of the party, off my lawn, but I know that wouldn’t look good for MBAS, so I don’t. Besides, the more money we raise, the more money goes to Louise, Sir Carrots, and Moose. Plus, it’ll make Bev happy.
I’ll do anything for that.
Slowly but surely, the evening comes to an end. Chandra steps on stage and grabs the mic. “Thanks for coming, everyone!”
The crowd cheers.
“Until next year!” she cries happily.
The crowd repeats back her words .
“One last announcement,” she says, sounding a bit nervous. “As you all know, I moonlight as a romance writer. Just like my love for animals, it’s another passion. And I’m set to have a reading next Friday at the Melody Bay Bookstore.”
Another round of applause.
“I’m excited to share it with you.”
People clap and then begin to gather their things, unwinding from the evening.
After Chandra steps down from the stage, she waves me over.
“Hi Chandra,” I say.
“How was your night?” She smiles knowingly. If I wasn’t convinced she saw the kiss before, I am now.
“Good,” I say carefully, not wanting to give anything away.
“I have good news too,” she says. “We don’t have all the numbers yet, but as of now, we’ve raised ten times what we made in the last ten years —combined .”
Pride sparks through me.
“Your guitar alone fetched us six thousand.”
“Fantastic.”
I don’t have time to ask any more about the numbers because I have to excuse myself, so Laval can leave for the night.
I find Laval and Moose in the same upstairs room as before. Moose greets me excitedly, which I must confess is endearing, seeing his tail helicopter like a madman. Finally, after Moose settles, Laval gives him a belly rub to say goodbye.
Before Laval leaves, I hand him some signed merch and a box of canapes from the caterers. Laval flashes a thankful smile .
I grunt like, “Don’t worry about it.”
As I help the caterers clean up, Moose follows me around. They keep telling me, “You don’t have to help,” which I know. But I want to.
Of course, I realize Bev never said goodbye, but I try not to read into it. I’ve been busy, so maybe she didn’t want to bother me.
Ding! A text from Xavier. Dread spreads its wings and descends like a vulture.
Xavier : Bad news, my man. I hashed it out with the label’s lawyer. And you’re contractually obligated to go back on tour. No way around it.
Me : I thought you were going to buy me some time
Xavier : I did.
Me : I was thinking more like months
Xavier : I told you they were chomping at the bit. They want to strike while the iron is HOT.
Me : There’s got to be some way out of this
Xavier : It’s ironclad.
Me : What if I pay what’s owed? Whatever they would make from the tour, I just pay them
Xavier : Sorry, man. I’ve already done everything I can. You’re going back on tour.
Me : Ugh
Xavier : Plus, they got wind of your performance tonight. More viral videos. People LOVE it. What are you on? Actually, don’t answer that. Either way, you’ve got to stop with vids like this if you don’t want to go back on tour.
I think back to what Bev said at our dinner about my dad. What if you don’t do what he wants? Couldn’t it apply to this situation too?
Me : But what if I say no? What can they really do? Make me do more community service ?
Xavier : I wouldn’t recommend it. You’d never work in the industry again.
I fall back on a lounge chair and stare at the stars above, searching for answers. How the fuck do you get out of a lose-lose situation?